


Resuming Old Duets

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23085955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: It's easier to borrow other people's words than it is to come up with their own.
Relationships: Amarië/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	Resuming Old Duets

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for anduniela as part of my prompt event a few months ago, but I never got around to crossposting it. So here it is!

The first thing he sent Amarie upon his return was an apology. Because he knew Amarie, or at least he hoped he still did, he also sent the lyrics to every Mannish song he learned in Beleriand, complete with annotations. He hoped the gift would help make up for the rather muddled apology.

He would do it again, was the problem. He would go back to Beleriand right now if the Valar would let him.

But he would spend longer trying to coax the longing in her eyes to action this time. He would tell her every wonder in Beleriand that existed despite all the horror and beg her to come with him, selfish as it was, because he had spent every day missing her.

So he sent the apology and the notes and waited with what he insisted to himself was not impatience for her answer.

Answers had taken months sometimes in Beleriand, and every day over the expected time had brought with it the increasing dread that this time the recipient was no longer there to reply.

Amarie lived a thirty minute walk away from the center of Tirion, where his father now ruled, and he knew for a fact she wasn’t dead.

It sill took over a week for her to respond, and every day still made his dread rise.

He could have walked down her door. Should have made, maybe, but -

But he had sent his letter, and he should give her space, shouldn’t he? It had only been a week. What was a week to an elf?

An eternity, it felt like.

Her response was a set of lyrics attributed to a bard he’d heard several people praise since he’d returned. It was titled, “How Can They Bear to Walk Away?”

She also sent back his apology, now crumpled into a little ball.

Since apparently songs and scholarly notes upon them were more acceptable than anything he could come up with on his own, he sent back a selection of the verses from Maglor’s still unfinished “Noldolante.”

He explained this in a note scratched at the top of the page. He did not include Maglor’s dark joke that it would remain unfinished until they were all dead.

The verses called up the anger, the grief, the terror, and all the broiling confusion of that time. They held a more wistful, hopeful tone when they spoke of Beleriand, and he felt that hope for it even now, after everything. 

They did not explain how sure he had been, until the very last moment, that she would come riding up and insist on coming after all.

When another week passed without a response, he sent her a copy of every song he had written in her honor in those long years alone.

It was not a thin packet.

She sent back the lament she had written upon hearing of his death from Nienna.

Or, rather, she marched up to his door and slammed it into his chest. It took him several minutes to realize that’s what it was, though, as immediately after delivering her message, she’d burst into tears and slammed into his chest herself.

It was a long time before either of them let go.


End file.
